Egyptian Honeymoon (18 page)

She chose a heavy ivory silk gown, with a skirt falling in straight classic folds, and a draped bodice, but without sleeves. The saleswoman suggested something more dramatic would be more fitted to her position, make her seem more mature, but Noelle stuck to the ivory silk. If Steve wanted her to appear young and virginal, it would fit the bill that he would be paying. She left it to have a small alteration made, and in due course it was delivered. She tried it on when she went to dress for dinner, and hearing Steve's voice in the passage speaking to one of the maids—he was home early for once—she called to him to come and see if he approved of it.

He hesitated on the threshold, for he had never entered the room since she had been occupying it. His eyes went towards the bed, and then to her white-robed figure. He had changed into a velvet jacket and dress trousers, with a frilled shirt. The costume had the effect of giving him the elegance of a Regency buck, though he' himself would have derided such a description. He prided himself upon being a man of the people, though wealth and the society he now mingled with had inevitably polished him. He took something out of his pocket as he came towards her, and his eyes had kindled.

'Exquisite, my love, and here's something to give the finishing touch.'

He handed her a flat case, and when she opened it, the sparkle of diamonds met her gaze.

'Let me fasten it for you.'

The gems were cold on her neck, but his fingers at her nape set her blood on fire. He stepped back to view the effect.

'Frozen fire,' he said with a crooked smile.

Subtly the description stung her.

'You wanted me to wear white,' she flashed, 'and fire melts ice.'

'Or do you mean diamonds do?' He came nearer, an unmistakable look in his eyes. 'You're a siren, a temptress,' he told her hoarsely, before she could object to his slur. Then she was crushed against the velvet jacket, his lips caressing the white column of her throat, lingering in the hollow behind her ear. Neither had a thought to the damage he might be doing to the freshness of her new dress. Noelle could feel the hard thudding of his heart, just above her own, the pressure of his thighs through the clinging folds of her dress. He was becoming thoroughly aroused, and she felt a surge of triumph. She still had the power to excite him.

His mouth came down on hers, hard and demanding, and her lips parted under its insistence. Tremors were running up and down her spine, and she melted in his arms.

The telephone rang.

All the rooms in the house were connected to a main switchboard in the hall outside the housekeeper's room, and each had its own microphone. Usually there was someone within hearing to answer it. Noelle rarely used it, but someone must have seen Steve go into her room, and the call was probably for him.

Steve swore under his breath, tightening his grip of her, but the phone rang on insistently. Training would not permit him to ignore it. Reluctantly he released her and went to lift the receiver. She heard him say:

'Put the call through to the blue room. I'll speak to her in there.'

Then he was gone. Noelle in her turn swore: 'Damn, oh, damn!' For Steve had been on the verge of taking her, giving her a chance to reverse her former coldness, to express her love. Then two things registered: he had given her diamonds, and had thought she had melted to show not love but gratitude, and the phone call had been from a woman— a woman he had not wanted to speak to in his wife's presence. Slowly she took off her party dress, laying it carefully on the bed, and slipped on a black and gold Caftan. She dropped the diamond necklace on her dressing table and looked at it with distaste. She had no passion for gems at all, but Steve believed they could buy all a woman had to give. She gave a long sigh, and went down to dinner.

Over the meal Steve was remote, seeming preoccupied, though he gave her several long, considering looks. She made no attempt to talk, for her thoughts were following one big question mark. Who was the lady who had torn him from her arms? It might have been his secretary, but it was much more likely to be someone with whom he had made an assignment. She knew it was useless to ask him, he would only give her an evasive answer. If he were having affairs, he was discreet, no whisper of them reached Forest Lodge, but then the wife was always the last to learn of them.

When they had finished, he followed her into the drawing-room, swallowed the cup of coffee she poured for him, then said he was afraid he must go out.

That came as no surprise, it was a confirmation of her suspicions.

'Might one ask where?' she asked with reproach in her eyes.

'I have to go into the city. The board have decided to call an emergency meeting to consult about a threatened strike.'

Had it taken him all dinner time to think up that one? She didn't believe a word of it.

'I shan't see you again tonight,' he went on, 'unless…?' He left the word hanging, a question between them, and he looked suddenly eager.

'Oh, I shan't sit up,' she said quickly. 'I'll say goodnight now.'

Yet he lingered, seeming undecided, then he shrugged his shoulders.

'I suppose I've offended you again.'

Thinking of his treachery, for was he not going to meet another woman, Noelle said in a cold voice:

'You have, but you can't help your nature, can you?'

Steve flushed angrily, took a step towards her, where she sat on the sofa, exotically beautiful in the gorgeous caftan, and she, fearing he was about to offer her some violence, instinctively raised her arm to ward him off.

Steve gave a harsh laugh and went out of the room, banging the door behind him.

Pickles, sensing she was hurt, scrambled on to her lap and licked her nose. Careless of her clothes, Noelle gathered him into her arms and dropped a few tears on his rough coat.

They rarely met at breakfast, Steve having his earlier than she did, and she very often had hers brought up to her room when she only required coffee and toast. He was in to dinner the next night, and they treated each other with chill politeness. She asked, hoping to embarrass him, how his meeting had gone, and he returned equably that they thought they could avert the strike. She persisted:

'Wasn't it an odd time to call a conference? Even if it was an emergency?'

'Someone had come up with a possible solution. We were all anxious to hear it as soon as possible.'

No, she could never get any change out of Steve.

The day before the dinner she received a letter in a strange hand by the afternoon post. It was postmarked from a town in Devon, and there was a folded enclosure, which dropped out when she opened the letter, and turned to the signature. It was from Mary Bates. So she was all right and back in the West Country cottage, where she had told her they lived. She settled down to peruse it.

Mary wrote: 'I'm sure you will be glad to know that we got back safely and, all is well. It turned out I had a touch of food poisoning, nothing catching, in fact we were able to continue the trip. I'm sorry I've been so long in writing to you, but there was quite an accumulation of correspondence and whatnot to deal with on our return—you know Harry is secretary to the local branch of the British Legion and I'm president of the W.I. Well, my dear, let me at last thank you and your kind husband for all you did for us.' Noelle read the sentence twice. What could she mean? 'I quite understand why Mr Prescott didn't want you to contact me again, though I was sad not to be able to say goodbye to' you. He thinks the world of you and naturally didn't want you to run the slightest risk, but we did appreciate his prompt action in finding a doctor for me and for the lovely fruit and flowers he had sent on board. As for the enclosed, please return it to him with our most grateful thanks. It turned out we didn't need it, the insurance covered everything, but it was a great comfort to know we had it when we didn't know what we might be let in for, and it was so very considerate of your dear husband to offer us a loan, for of course we would have repaid it eventually.'

The letter continued with descriptions of the places visited, their journey home, etc., etc.—but Noelle read no more. She picked up the enclosure and unfolding it, saw it was a cheque for a thousand pounds made out to Colonel Bates and the signature was Steven Prescott.

Noelle stared at it in bewilderment. Why, oh, why had he done all that and never told her? He knew she had been anxious about her friends. Was it a perverse pleasure in allowing her to think the worst of him? Pride, that since she could so misjudge him, he would not undeceive her? Or was he ashamed to admit such compassion for a pair of indigent tourists, when he had built up an image of himself as a hard, unsentimental tycoon?

He had asked her more than once not to jump to wrong conclusions, but she accepted outward appearances both with regard to Marcia and to the Bates. She had accused him of being heartless and callous and he had refused to defend himself, closing up like a clam. He must be far more sensitive than she had ever imagined beneath the carapace of scornful indifference in which he had armoured himself as protection on his upward climb to success. With sudden insight, she realised that he needed love perhaps more than a less self-sufficient man, but he had never had it, not even from his mother, and so he declared he despised it. He had told her the women he favoured only wanted what he could give them, and probably believed that if he were stripped of his wealth, no one could care for him. She herself had married him not because she loved him but for what he could do for her family, and he knew it. He didn't expect love from her, but he had hoped to find a warm, responsive mate, but she, poor scared rabbit, had been frightened by his lovemaking and called out for Hugh, who had been not half the man Steve was.

They had loved, yes, but with more affection than passion. If they had married they would have been well suited and quite happy, occupied with their boutique, but they would never have scaled any heights of rapture. What she felt for Steve was quite different. If he had been like Hugh she would not have been scared of him, it was the intensity of his feelings that had dismayed her, but he had lit an answering spark in her, which if it were fanned into flame would produce a fire which would weld them together in mutual ecstasy that could lay the foundation for a deep and lasting love.

But Steve had come to believe he repelled her, and that even a diamond necklace could not overcome her revulsion, so he had put her away like the bronze monkey, to be taken out and admired by envious friends, who had no idea of the barrenness of their union. He was too virile a man to go without a woman for long, and she could not blame him for solacing himself with Marcia and the woman over the telephone.

With a sigh she folded up Mary Bates' letter, and looked at the bold, black signature on the cheque, so characteristic of the writer. She must return it to Steve and make some sort of apology, which would not be easy, for she too was proud and sensitive and dreaded his mockery. She decided she would wait until after the dinner party. If she acquitted herself to Steve's satisfaction he would be in an indulgent mood, he might even… no, she must not expect more than a polite acceptance of her regret for her unjustifiable accusations, and she would be lucky if she got that.